


Safety

by Caepio



Category: Julius Caesar - Shakespeare
Genre: Aftermath, Consequences, Love/Hate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1921284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caepio/pseuds/Caepio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night of the Ides of March</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safety

“Are you frightened?”

It’s Antony’s voice, in the cold of the night. Brutus had half forgotten he was there. He’d been asleep, curled on his side, blankets tugged around him for warmth, as if the heat of Antony’s body wasn’t a safe weight against his back.

There was still rioting in the streets, torches flickering past the windows in unpredictable intervals. Screams and shouts in the distance. Everything smelled of smoke- the cold breaths of air, the sheets, Antony’s skin, and Antony’s hair. Brutus turned over, twisting in Antony’s arms, wrapping his own around the taller man’s shoulders, burying his head against his chest and breathing in the death scent of Caesar’s funeral pyre. He didn’t care that it was Antony’s fault he would have to leave Rome. He didn’t even care he’d broken his promise. It was the important promises that mattered. And Antony had kept those. In Antony’s bed, Brutus would always be safe and hidden. From everyone but Antony himself. The plebs might riot and threaten, Caesar might once have had the power to make him kneel, but Antony was the only person who was ever really a risk to him. Antony who was knotting his fingers firmly through the tangles in Brutus’ hair, tugging slowly, till pain prickled along his scalp and he raised his head, following the pull of Antony’s hand, and let him press a bruising kiss to his lips. It didn’t matter anymore - the bruises and the pain were just a precursor to what would come. It would be Antony again, Brutus knew it. If he ended up run through with steel like Caesar, it would be at Antony’s hand or at no one’s at all. No one but himself, at least. Perhaps, for once, he would deny Antony his satisfaction. Perhaps not.

Antony’s hands had reached his hips, pushing him to lie on his back, sliding down farther to his thighs, spreading his legs apart and fitting himself between them, not caring for the low gasp of discomfort as he pressed closer, barely trying to keep his weight off of Brutus. His gaze fixed on him was an intimacy that ached worse than the bruises on his hips and the cut lip that made every kiss sharp and bitter with blood. Antony kissed like he’d drink it all as he drank wine - a draught that would drain the cup and leave it empty. Empty as Caesar’s eyes. Empty as speeches in the rostrum. Empty as Antony's question. Was he afraid? Did it matter? His fate was sealed.


End file.
